


Let There Be Light

by nicolebaka



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Deckerstar - Freeform, Deckerstar drabble collection, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Post-Season/Series 03, Post-Season/Series 04, Tumblr Prompts, and everything in between
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2020-05-07 09:06:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19206229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicolebaka/pseuds/nicolebaka
Summary: A collection of Deckerstar prompts, one-shots, based on a list I posted on Tumblr and the asks I got.  The drabbles revolve around the relationship between Lucifer and Chloe, and will include other characters from the series.





	1. Halcyon

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt:  
> 98\. “I would’ve had breakfast ready, but you were sleeping on my arm and I didn’t want to wake you.”
> 
> halcyon  
> /ˈhalsɪən/  
>  _adjective_  
>  1.denoting a period of time in the past that was idyllically happy and peaceful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:**  
>  98\. “I would’ve had breakfast ready, but you were sleeping on my arm and I didn’t want to wake you.”
> 
> halcyon  
> /ˈhalsɪən/  
>  _adjective_  
>  1.denoting a period of time in the past that was idyllically happy and peaceful.

 

A long breath glides out of her as the first rays of sunshine brings her back to consciousness. With her eyes still closed, her focus hones on the steady beats of his heart under her palm. She suppresses a smile and her body sinks deeper into the mattress.

She loves his bed.

As though his divine senses can tell she is starting to wake, his arms tighten around her and shift her closer, a silk sheet whispering its agreement to let her move beneath it until her bare chest molds to his sleep-warmed body. A feather-light hand scoops a fallen lock of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear in a gesture that distinguishes him just as equally as the timbre of his voice.

“Good morning,” she whispers and gentle lips brush against her temple. “Sleep well?”

His nod is faint, just enough that it tickles where the five-o’clock shadow on his chin and jaw brush against her forehead. She squirms a bit and feels him smile, his leg winding over hers to keep her still. His hand finds hers on his chest, tangling their fingers together. She tucks their intertwined hands under her chin and his thumb frees itself to caress her cheek.

There’s nothing as beautiful as waking up with Lucifer.

He’s all soft whispers and tender kisses in the morning. He likes everything quiet, unhurried, unstressed and un-everything that defines the typical chaos of his nightclub owner activities and their work. Except when it’s all paperwork and no chasing after bad guys.

And despite claiming that he detests this boring side of her work because  _“I’m pretty sure people are forced to do this exact same thing in Hell, Detective”_ he sticks around and brings her a tall, non-fat almond milk latte with sugar-free caramel drizzle and her favorite grilled cheese sandwich. And she adores him for it.

When they eventually make it out of bed it’s all teases and taunts, rolled eyes and flirty smirks, and enough dirty jokes to fill the Pacific. But she can’t fault him for putting on a show for the outside world. She even joins him on the jokes or lets out a silent chuckle instead of an eye-roll. Being  _“In The Know”_  club is so much more fun.

She wiggles a little and his hold loosens, allowing her to scoot further up the pillow so their noses almost touch. His eyes are closed, black eyelashes swept down and she threads her fingers into his hair, her nails massaging his scalp in a perfected pattern that practically make him purr.

Her lips press against his in greeting and he hums happily in response, his free arm encircles her waist under the sheets, one fingertip trailing a line from the top of her ribs down to her hip before it finds its place on her lower back.

And that’s when her stomach chooses that moment to let out an angry growl at its emptiness, making her cheek flush and he lets out a small chuckle against her hair. She wrinkles her nose at the interruption while he pulls back slightly and opens his eyes to look at her for the first time that day.

“Apologies, darling,” he starts with a smile. “I would’ve had breakfast ready, but you were sleeping on my arm and I didn’t want to wake you.”

It’s stupid and it’s just a sentence, but it still catches her off guard how sweet he can be. A thought which she knows better than to tell him because he would only scoff and deny it  _“I am the Devil, darling. I don’t do sweet”_  she practically hears him. Which brings her to her second realization; that the actual Devil, the former King of Hell, the son of freaking God, an immortal angel would decide to let her use his arm as a pillow and not risk waking her by slipping out of bed and prepare breakfast for her.

This man.

But as many times before, he takes her silence the wrong way. “But I can whip something up for you now, an omelette with a ridiculous amount of cheese and mushrooms as you like, before you have to pick up the Urchin from Daniel…” he rambles as he makes a move to get out of the bed and she stops him with a gentle hand on his cheek and her second taste of his lips that day.

He immediately responds and settles back with a surprised hum in his throat before enveloping her in his arms and deepens the kiss.

“It’s okay,” she assures him when they break apart. “I’ll have something on the way home.”

She watches him opening his mouth to complain and tell her that _“Detective, I can’t let you eat those poisonous meals they serve at that awful place near your home”_  but she shushes him with a finger on his lips before he can utter the words and pulls off the sheets from her naked body down to her waist, a silent invitation she knows he won’t refuse.

She can see the turmoil in his dark eyes; one part of him wants to give in to his carnal desires and the other wants to give her a piece of his mind on the matter and admonish her on her unhealthy diet. But a silent raise of her brow that says  _“Do you really want to argue when we can do more enjoyable things?”_  does him in and he lets out an amused  _“Very well”_  before they celebrate this new day in the most pleasant way.

And when she emerges from his gigantic bathroom later, fresh and happy, she’s not even a little bit surprised to find him with two plates of steaming omelette in his hand and a smug and satisfied smile on his face.

She only shakes her head fondly at him and goes to have breakfast with the Devil.


	2. Omnipresent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:**  
>  16\. "Maybe you didn't love me after all."
> 
> omnipresent  
> /ɒmnɪˈprɛz(ə)nt/  
>  _adjective_  
>  1\. present or having an effect everywhere at the same time.

4 months 21 days 12 hours 35 minutes since the last time she saw him.

Not that she counts.  _(Of course she does)._

It’s hard not to when she sees and hears him in everything.

In the morning lights when she wakes up. In her kitchen when she makes breakfast. On the passenger seat of her car when she drives to work. In the precinct on the edge of her desk. In Ella’s lab when she updates them on a case. In the interrogation room when they question a suspect.

And everywhere in his penthouse when she feels herself in a particularly masochistic mode and goes to visit.

She misses him.

And he’s gone.

Sometimes she thinks it’s worse than him being dead. Because she knows he must be just as miserable in Hell as she is on Earth. But maybe it’s the same if he was dead; he’s still banned from Heaven after all. Or so he believes anyway.

She could see it in his eyes that evening - he didn’t want to go, but there was really no other choice. Those stupid demons needed to be contained by their King, or else they would have literally unleashed Hell on Earth. It doesn’t lessen the pain though, or the anger.

After two months of carrying out cases alone, she got assigned a new partner despite her protests, a young and overly enthusiastic newbie, Will. Not that she didn’t manage to catch the bad guys, but the process was much slower than before with Lucifer on her side and the Lieutenant saw it best to give her a new partner.

It should have helped, really - because Will is nothing at all like Lucifer. But funnily enough, it makes her miss him even more.

When she looks up from her desk every morning she still expects to find a smug smile in a three-piece suit, but all she sees is a brown messenger bag and plaid shirt. Instead of a tall, non-fat almond milk latte with sugar-free caramel drizzle and lemon bars, it’s black coffee and donuts. Her desk always looks the same when she returns from a 10-minute break - no new wallpaper of an almost naked Devil, no dying flowers from alcohol poisoning. There is no one admonishing her for eating out of a vending machine. When a witness says something with a double-meaning, her eyes are already conditioned to roll, but there are no dirty jokes to follow. When a possible suspect is very clearly lying, there’s no one asking them what is it they desire and get them to the truth. When she’s doing the necessary paperwork, there’s no one distracting her with their whining of  _“How boring and dreadful this side of your work is, Detective. No wonder office workers are the most at risk of burnout. I just read it on Buzzfeed.”_

It’s just plain, old, textbook police work.

But then one day, Amenadiel lights a spark of hope in her fragmented heart. He offers her to take a message down to Lucifer because apparently, he is the only one who can and is willing to fly down to Hell to visit his brother.

Talking to Amenadiel about him is a balm to her soul - he misses his brother almost as much as she does, and even though he tried to get Lucifer to go back to Hell countless times in the past, he came to realize that his brother doesn’t belong there. But if him being there is the only solution for ensuring peace on Earth, then he at least shouldn’t always be alone.

So she writes him a letter, just a few sentences of how much she misses him, how often Trixie asks about him, how Charlie is slowly growing, how boring her days are without his presence and silly texts. Of how much she loves him.

When Amenadiel comes to the precinct after a quick trip to Hell a few days later, she’s out of her seat in a heartbeat and practically jogs to the angel, but before she reaches him, he looks at her wistfully and shakes his head “no, he didn’t send her any message back”.

Hurt. Anger.

They hit her all at once and before Amenadiel could see the traitorous tears welling up in her eyes, she stalks back to her desk, shuts off her computer and gathers up her things. She doesn’t care about paperwork today, the only thing that kept her going for the last week was this miniscule hope of hearing from him again. Anything. Even a simple  _“Hello, Detective”_  would have sufficed.

But nothing?

No, that is unacceptable. After months of suffering from his absence, after declaring her love for him only for him to vanish into thin air - well, Hell - the least he could do was to say  _something_ back.

She marches to the elevator with angry steps, not even stopping to say goodbye to anyone, and before Amenadiel can open his mouth to say something, maybe explain, the doors shut before her. She doesn’t even know if she wanted an explanation.

She arrives at Lux in a record of 30 minutes and is up at his penthouse in another 5.

She makes sure to send a quick text to Dan and say goodnight to Trixie before she attacks the biggest liquor shelf in L.A. Because, goddamnit she needs a drink.  _Or four._

All the sadness and melancholy over the months, it was bound to break her. All she needed was a little push to plunge into the next stage of grief. Anger. That blinding rage she needs to feel to not fall apart even further.

At her second glass of whiskey, she is finally starting to feel a pleasant buzz coursing through her body and she can practically hear his stupid voice with his stupid accent  _“Naughty, Detective. Drinking on a weekday? How unprofessional of you.”_

“Shut up,” she mumbles to the empty penthouse as she forgoes the glass and drinks straight from his expensive and fancy bottle of whiskey instead. It probably cost more than her annual salary.

She stumbles to the balcony and fumbles with the handle for a bit before she manages to open the glass doors, the cool night breeze of the city hits her face in a soothing manner, but not enough to sober her up. She reaches out to steady herself on the railing with her free hand. She flexes her fingers, watches as they turn white and takes another gulp.

“You don’t even care do you?” she accuses, half shouting, as she looks down on the streets, not even sure if her direction is in any way correct. “Not even a single word, huh?” she takes a swig. “You selfish bastard.” Another swig.

She’s not even sure when she started crying but she can’t seem to control her tears as they cascade down her cheeks. “And I thought you never lied. That’s the whole point, doesn’t it?” she yells. “Your first love, my ass,” she scoffs and wipes her eyes and cheeks with the back of hand furiously, no doubt smearing her mascara all over her face.

She thinks she should have more to say, more to yell into the night, more words to get out of her system. But at that moment, with the alcohol coursing through her veins and making her head spin with painful thoughts, she feels defeated. Truly and utterly. Because no matter what she says, no matter how she feels, it wouldn’t make her heart any less broken.

It wouldn’t bring him back. To her.

She tilts her head back, looks up to the black and starry sky - stars that  _he_  put there - and lets out a trembling sigh that resonates through her entire body. “Maybe you didn’t love me after all.”

She turns her back to the city, puts the bottle down and wobbles through the apartment until her knees hit his gigantic bed. She dives face first into the silk sheets and falls asleep with his scent surrounding her.

When she wakes up the next morning with a killer headache and regret in her mouth, the first thing she sees is a simple note propped against the lamp on the nightstand, and she immediately recognizes the handwriting even if it’s only 3 letters.

_I do._


	3. Juxtaposition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:**  
>  14\. "I'll take the couch."
> 
> juxtaposition  
> /ˌdʒʌkstəpəˈzɪʃ(ə)n/  
>  _noun_  
>  the fact of two things being seen or placed close together with contrasting effect.

Someone must really hate her in the universe. **  
**

Probably God.

Because why else would the department send her and Lucifer to a two-day stakeout when they were in the middle of a fight? When things are being the most awkward between them because of a stupid misunderstanding?

It all started with a case of course, but this time, Lucifer came with her to notify the family of the death of their loved one. She usually doesn't bring him to this part of the investigation, but ever since she found out that her consultant is the literal Devil, their partnership has evolved and he became more involved with the police work - he even stays for the  _“boring stuff”._

And when she realized it would be the first time Lucifer will be present for this part, she may have made a not so sensitive comment about his non-existent verbal filter and empathy not being his strongest suit.

She expected a pout and some quip about how he  _can_  behave if he wanted to, but what she did not expect was the wounded and deeply hurt look he gave her right before he demanded if she perhaps thought of him as a monster incapable of feelings even after weeks of knowing who he truly was and working alongside him just fine until now.

To say that she was shocked was an understatement, but before she could explain that she had long since come to terms with his true identity and dive into statistics about him making inappropriate jokes in front of a victim’s relative, he practically flew out of the car and stalked away angrily, not looking back.

And so, ever since that day, he’s been giving her the cold shoulder and only answering her when it’s necessary and only in one syllable words. And now they were stuck on this trip for 48 hours. She would do anything to be anywhere else but here.

But sadly, the bad guys won’t catch themselves.

By the time they make it to a moderately nice hotel (which has four stars, because _“Every establishment with less than four stars are absolute hellholes and trust me, Detective, I would know. I have literally lived there for millenniums.”_ ), her eyes are starting to get heavy and there’s a crick in her shoulders when she rolls them in her seat as she finds a parking spot. But these symptoms have probably more to do with her companion’s silent treatment and spending hours finding a hotel that would fit into the department’s budget and satisfy Lucifer’s snobbishness.

She can practically feel the same tiredness radiating from him, but she doesn’t think anything she says will help the tension between them.

She’s about ready to attack the mini fridge and call it a day.

Their room is actually very lovely, it’s more than big enough for the two of them and it even has a small living area.

She hears Lucifer heaving a frustrated sigh beside her and she looks up and notices as his eyes are fixed on the only bed in the room. She could laugh, or cry, because this is playing out just like every teen movie she’s ever watched. In the world of Hollywood, they would make up in the end and it would be all rainbows and unicorns.

But this isn’t Hollywood (at least, not for a few days) and they will continue to step on eggshells around each other for a long time.

Or at least until his stubbornness runs out and they can finally talk this out like adults.

“I’ll take the couch,” he declares suddenly and busies himself with checking the outlets and the shower and stupid, mundane things like that just to avoid acknowledging her presence any longer.

Chloe doesn’t even try to argue with his chosen sleeping arrangement, because one, he wouldn’t listen to her, and two, she’s not even sure it would be a good idea for them to sleep so close to each other. Not that she would mind, of course, she has been entertaining the idea of them moving forward in their relationship that she knows the whole truth for a while now.

So she just takes a deep breath and plops down on the bed, taking out the case file from her bag and spreading it out on the sheets. Just as she’s reading over their suspect’s criminal history, Lucifer appears in her line of sight and grabs a document before settling down on the opposite side of the bed, farthest from her.

He got rid of his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves, and Chloe has to force herself to focus on the paper in her hands instead of his muscular forearms. For good measure, she also reminds herself that they are not exactly on speaking terms, so ogling her Devilish partner is kind of out of the question now.

They quickly go over the case, taking notes for tomorrow’s stakeout, exchanging ideas of different theories and angles, but their conversation remains strictly work-related. And when she tries to not so subtly change the subject  _“Maybe we should order some room service and continue this tomorrow morning, I’m starving”_  he rises from the bed and fiddles with the top bottom of his vest for a moment before giving her a quick glance.

“You do that, Detective. I, on the other hand, swing by the bar downstairs. The content of the mini fridge is simply dreary.” he shudders slightly and pulls on his jacket before walking to the door. He pauses for a moment and she looks up just in time to catch the somber look on his face and the sad twitch of his mouth as he glances back at her before quickly slipping out the door.

Chloe frowns and stares at the closed door for a minute, trying to understand the change in his demeanor because up until now, he only gifted her a rather indifferent side of him. Maybe she wasn’t looking hard enough?

Was she losing him?

Did her stupid comment cut him deeper than she realized? And if so, why?

She’s aware that she won’t find the answers to these questions unless they talk -  _really_  talk - but a mild headache is starting to creep up on her and only now she realizes how tired she is.

She decides to quickly look over the case one last time, but after ten minutes of staring at the same sentence and her thoughts keep jumping to her damned partner, she sighs and throws the wretched folder back in her bag. It’s time to officially call it a day and get ready for bed.

She grabs a pillow and a blanket and deposits them on the couch for Lucifer. She regards the furniture with a scowl and glances back at the bed; there’s enough space for the both of them - well, if they sleep pressed together, that is. Her face suddenly feels strangely warm at the thought and she shakes her head.

There’s no way his mulishness would make him abandon the couch, even if he has to fold his long limbs at an impossible angle to fit comfortably on it.

Once she’s settled against the soft pillows on the bed and pulls the blanket over her body, she feels incredibly drained. It isn’t just from the four-hour drive to this hotel, but everything from the last few days between her and Lucifer.

Her stupid mind starts to analyze their every moment during that period of time instead of shutting off and taking her to Dreamland. She noticed he became distant, not just emotionally, but physically too - he didn’t invade her personal space anymore, he was careful not to touch her when she handed him a paper or a mug, or simply anything. He only glanced at her when she addressed him, or when he thought she wasn’t looking. While interrogating suspects, he didn’t sit down next to her as he did so regularly, instead, he chose to stand at the far corner of the room.

Chloe frowns at the dark ceiling. If her years and experience as a detective and profiler thought her anything, it’s as if he’s trying to be as non-threatening to her as possible.

But why the hell would he do that? He knows she’s not afraid of him, doesn’t he?

_Doesn’t he?_

 Is it how things are going to be between them now? One of them says something that hurts the other and there is no going back? Because it seems that he got this notion in his head that she can’t possibly accept his true nature and no matter what she does, she can’t change his mind. 

Which is no surprise really, because once he gets something in his stupid thick skull there is no changing that. But she will be damned if she won’t try. Because it’s not worth losing each other over.

When she turns on her side, a single tear cascades down her cheek and vanishes in the soft material of the pillow, leaving a tiny wet patch behind. And then the door suddenly opens behind her and Lucifer saunters in, trying to make as little noise as possible. He probably thinks she’s asleep.

She glances at the bedside clock -  _2 AM_. Wow, her brooding certainly took too long.

From the corner of her eye, she watches as he walks to the couch and pauses when his eyes land on the bedclothes. His brows knit together and then he gives her resting form a glance over like he does so many times when he doesn’t understand her actions or what she’s saying to him.

He then steps into the bathroom to take a quick shower and change, and when he emerges again, he’s only wearing black boxer briefs and Chloe’s breath catches in her throat. It’s not like it’s the first time she sees him almost naked - because the Devil likes to lose the fabric and is not ashamed to show some skin - and it’s not like she hasn’t  _actually_  seen him naked. But this time she knows everything about him and she’s quite ready to climb that particular tree.

If only they weren’t fighting.

If he noticed that she’s only pretending to be asleep, he doesn’t show it and lies down on the couch, pulling the blanket over his slender form and arranges the pillow under his head. She hears him toss and turn for a couple of minutes, no doubt having trouble finding a comfortable position because of his long limbs. He lets out an irritated sigh and shifts to lay on his back, his feet dangling from the end of the couch.

He presents a pitiful sight and Chloe can’t take this any longer. If he refuses to sleep on the bed beside her then she will drag him there herself even if he kicks and screams. Screw his stubbornness, there’s no reason for him to suffer.

“Lucifer, there’s plenty of space in this bed. You really don’t need to sleep on the couch” she risks, and he jerks his head her way, seemingly surprised that she’s awake.

Guess his divine senses doesn’t work that much on her these days.

“No, thank you, Detective,” he replies curtly and shifts to his side again, smacking his pillow gently for good measure.

She lets him wiggle for a few minutes before she’s out of bed because this is ridiculous.

“Come on, Lucifer, you’re too big for that thing.”

If she hadn’t appeared so suddenly in front of him, she’s positive he would’ve made a terrible pun at her words. Instead, he sits up suddenly, looking around like a deer caught in the headlights. He lets out an anxious “Detective?!” and tries to scramble away from her on the tiny surface.

Chloe, on the other hand, is starting to really lose her temper, because why the hell is he acting like she will transfer him cooties when she’s near him? Does he hate her that much? Or is it just her earlier theory about him thinking she’s afraid of him?

“Ok, what the hell is going on, Lucifer? If you’re still upset about that stupid comment, then just talk to me!” she demands loudly.

He looks taken aback by her mini outburst. “I...Detective, it’s…” he falters and still doesn’t know how to respond to her proximity.

It hurts her. Because up until that day, he had no problem invading her personal space and throwing flirty comments her way. It hurts, because he never pretended with her, never acted any different than absolutely himself.

She doesn’t wait for him to collect his thoughts and try to give her some lame explanation that skirts around the truth - because he never lies - so she launches into her improvised speech, looking into his dark and wide eyes determinedly.

“Look, I’m sorry for what I said that day, okay? I didn’t mean it like that,” she stresses with a small smile. “I know you have empathy and you are very thoughtful when you want to be.” He scoffs and she shakes her head. Finally some familiarity. “It was a new territory in our partnership and I guess I panicked. I should have trusted you. I really am sorry, Lucifer.”

His gaze softens for the briefest of seconds before he looks away. “No need for that, Detective. I understand.”

“Understand what?” She really has no clue what he’s talking about.

“That you are scared of me, of course,” he grins without any humor in his eyes.

Wait,  _what?_

It’s official - Satan has lost his mind.

She stands up from her crouched position in front of the couch abruptly and sees as defeat flicks over his ancient brown eyes.

Why is it that he’s like a billion years old and still acts like a total idiot sometimes?

And then she sits down on his lap and takes his face in her hands. “Does this feel like I’m afraid of you?” She keeps her eyes firmly trained on his and trying hard not acknowledge how only his boxer briefs makes him not absolutely naked. Now it’s not the time.

Lucifer’s expression, on the other hand, looks straight out comical with his alarmed gaze and his mouth closing and opening again and again, like a fish out of water. He’s the definition of getting caught off guard. “Detective, what…”

“You are the Devil. But you are also my partner, my best friend,” and someday, maybe more, she adds to herself and then caresses his cheek for emphases. “Do you really think we would still be partners if I thought of you any less? Nothing has changed for me, except that now I understand some of your weirdness,” she lets out a soft laugh and hopes it’s enough to erase that lost look on his face.

He finally moves and doesn’t resemble a rock under her anymore, putting a tentative hand on her shirt-clad waist, his eyes full of wonder and hope, but she detects a small amount of doubt as well. “Do you really mean that, Detective?”

“I do,” and she confirms with a chaste kiss to his parted lips.  _Oh_ , how long she’s wanted to do that.

He responds almost immediately, tightening his hold on her waist, but it doesn’t go much further than that because apparently, he has something to say to her too and gently pulls away.

“I must apologize too, Detective,” he starts and she frowns. “I may have overreacted a bit that day, it wasn’t my intention to hurt you. It’s just that you took all of this - all of me - so easily, and I believe I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, so to speak,” he gives her a self-deprecating smile.

“There is no other shoe, I promise. We are good, right?” she rakes her fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck and he relaxes under her touch.

“I very well hope so, Detective,” his eyes regain some of that twinkle that she missed so much.

“So can we go to bed now?”

“Oh, we sure can, darling,” he winks and grants her a salacious smirk.

Aaand he’s back.

“To sleep,” she clarifies and grins at him as she untangles herself from his lap and takes his hand to lead them to the bed.

She suddenly feels like a huge boulder had rolled off her heart as they settle beside each other, because they are going to be fine. They may still fight in the future, God knows they are too different not to, but she knows they will find their way back to each other, no matter what.

“Whatever you desire, darling.”

And they fall asleep to each other’s breathing, engulfed in their own little bubble of Heaven.


	4. Cynosure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:**  
>  69\. "I know this song." (au, kind of, set during s2)
> 
> **cynosure**  
>  /ˈsʌɪnəʃʊə,ˈsɪnəʃʊə,ˈsʌɪnəzjʊə,ˈsɪnəzjʊə/  
>  _noun_  
>  1\. a person or thing that is the centre of attention or admiration.

Saturday nights are always the busiest in the club, and Hugo Reyes knows that better than almost anyone. Even if he’s the newest employee in the club, he’s aware how fast his hands need to work in order to successfully serve everyone during the evening.

People are breezing in from all over town, eager to escape their monotonous everyday lives and leave their inhibitions behind. And last but not least, to catch a glimpse of the infamous owner of Lux, Lucifer Morningstar.

Not that it would be that difficult of a job, considering he spends almost every night down in the club, gracing the dance floor with his presence. Once in a while, he pops into the role of the entertainer and hypnotizes the crowd with his exceptional musical skills, and sometimes he just simply wants to loosen up and mingle with people. But even then, not everyone can enjoy _and_ hold his attention for a long time. 

Except for the Detective.

Who apparently decided to drop by.

Hugo’s hands are already holding the right ingredients to prepare her favorite drink, but when he sees her steps falter slightly and her hands reach out to balance herself against the wall, his movement stills and he puts down the shaker. Looks like the detective already had a Manhattan. And quite a few of it it seems.

It’s not like the Boss has a rule to stop serving alcohol to the heavily inebriated patrons, but the detective is a lightweight (or so he has been informed) and he’s sure Mr. Morningstar wouldn’t be happy with him if she comes down with alcohol poisoning.

She stumbles to the bar and plops down on one of the stools in front of him, greeting him with a lazy smile before looking over her shoulder, squinting at the dance floor, no doubt trying to locate his boss among the many people moving their bodies to the beat of the music.

Mr. Morningstar spots her before she sees him in one of the booths near the entrance, sandwiched between two scantily clad women who seem rather unhappy that his attention shifted away from them all of a sudden, ignoring their advances in favor of training his eyes on Ms. Decker.

“Detective!” he greets her, shouting over the loud music, lips pulling into a joyful smile and glee sparkling in his eyes.

It always amazes Hugo how spectacularly his demeanor changes when said detective swims into his sight - from fake smiles that don’t quite reach his eyes to full-on white teeth grin.

True happiness, as they say.

Mr. Morningstar weaves his way through the swaying bodies that try to accost him, men and women are drawn to him like a moth to a flame, hands reach after him as he passes by them. But he gives them no mind like he usually does when Ms. Decker is here and Hugo suppresses a knowing smile.

“To what do I owe this pleasure, Detective?” he asks when he reaches her by the bar, gesturing to Hugo for another drink. The bartender turns away to prepare his favorite, though he continues to pay attention to the pair.

“Girls' night out,” she replies, her words slightly slurred. “But Maze had a bounty to catch and Linda and Ella exhausted themselves with endless karaoke songs and I had a few cocktails and I just…” she rambles on.

“Didn’t want the party to end? You’ve certainly come to the right place.” Hugo catches his grin as he hands the boss his drink.

“Oh, I know. Apparently, you throw the best parties. I guess I wanted to see what the fuss is about,” she teases, her eyes skimming over the crowded nightclub.

“Ooh, did you know?” Mr. Morningstar quickly hides his stunned expression, replacing it with an impressed one as he looks the detective over with a raised brow. “I’m really enjoying this side of you, Detective! You should let loose more often, it suits you,” he beams at her and downs the rest of his Bourbon.

The detective only smiles, and Hugo swears he can see a slight blush gracing her cheeks. He averts his eyes and turns to a red-head on the other side of the bar who orders a Cosmopolitan. He’s happy for the interruption because he feels, for some reason, that he’s intruding on a very intimate moment.

“I know this song!” he suddenly hears Ms. Decker exclaiming loudly, the excitement in her high-pitched voice is evident as The Bangles starts blaring from the massive speakers.

Which is quite odd, because the Boss usually doesn’t let the appointed DJ play anything from the past millennium. The only times Hugo actually hears any classical or retro music is if Mr. Morningstar is playing them himself on the piano. It’s kind of the only rule they have at Lux.

(And that they must treat Det. Chloe Jane Decker with the utmost respect. Hugo is sure it’s even written in their employment contract somewhere.)

Hugo turns to the pair just in time to see the detective hop off the bar stool and the Boss steadying her by the arms as she slightly loses balance upon landing. Mr. Morningstar gives her a satisfied grin as her eyes sparkle with elation.

Hugo guesses it’s probably one of her favorite songs.

Ms.Decker grabs Mr. Morningstar's shirt sleeves and practically drags him to the dance floor, excited bounce in her steps. His boss seems all too happy to be led by her, though.

When they arrive at her desired spot, she lets go of his arm and starts swaying her body to the music, singing the lyrics into the warm air of the club. Her moves can’t exactly be called graceful and she’s quite overdressed in her black spaghetti strap tank top and skinny jeans, not to mention that her singing is rather off-pitch, but still, Mr. Morningstar is gazing at her as if she just hang the moon and all of the stars known to mankind.

When the Boss eventually rouses from his momentary stupor, he takes her hand and gently yanks her to him, his other arm going over her waist, their bodies flush against one another as they continue to move to the beat. The detective seemingly doesn’t mind the sudden proximity, her mouth pulls into a huge grin, letting out a guffaw as they bounce together to the refrain.

A little crowd has accumulated around them, some of the patrons regarding the pair with an amused smile on their faces, some of them (especially the ladies) are giving the detective daggers with their eyes, jealousy and frustration are their main setting whenever the Boss is ignoring them in favor of entertaining Ms. Decker. 

He truly only has eyes for her.

They would really make a cute couple, Hugo thinks.

As another nineties jam comes on and the two carry on with their carefree dancing, the bar is starting to queue up and Hugo has to use those special bartender skills to serve everyone with precision and as fast as possible. His boss is maybe easy-going and probably the best employer he ever had, but he still expects professionalism from his employees, and gawking at him and his love interest probably doesn’t count as such.

When he eventually turns back to the dance floor, he can no longer detect Mr. Morningstar and the Detective among the crowd. The DJ is back on with brand new hit songs and the woo girls have taken over the club again. He finally spots the two near the entrance, Ms. Decker is wearing the Boss’ suit jacket, her arm looped over his as they make their way outside.

Mr.Morningstar returns much, much later, just after the last of the hardcore party people are breezing out into the dawn. The boss gives them no mind as he glides up the stairs with his jacket slung over his shoulder and a somewhat serene look on his face. He gets into the elevator leading up to his penthouse and disappears as the doors close in front of him.

Hugo feels a finger tap her shoulder from behind.

"You owe me twenty bucks,” Partick, one of the bouncers informs him with a smirk.

Hugo sighs and reaches into his pocket, handing his bet partner the bills with a frown.

_Damn._

“Told you the Boss doesn’t sleep with anyone if the Detective drops by,” he pats Hugo on the shoulder in a slightly derogatory manner. “You’re just new. Don’t worry, you’ll get it, eventually.”

Hugo shakes his head and watches as a portion of his hard-earned tips walks away.

Eventually, he _will_ get it.

 


	5. Serendipity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:**  
>  75\. "I'm not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention."
> 
> **serendipity**  
>  /ˌsɛr(ə)nˈdɪpɪti/  
>  _noun_  
>  1\. the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way.

It was an unusually slow day at the precinct on a sunny Tuesday. The July Heat struck L.A. like a furnace, probably anyone with an ounce of self-preservation is hunting for air-conditioned places, or just simply stays at home to avoid getting heatstroke. Today, so far, had only a few hit and run, but it’s nothing that patrol can’t handle, and it’s practically the only time Chloe feels lucky that she doesn’t have another case. She’s quite frankly more than happy to stay behind her desk and sip her cold brew, than be a detective outside and likely obtain third-degree burns.

Which means she can catch up on the giant stack of paperwork on her desk. 

_ Which _ means, Lucifer is bored out of his mind, because God forbid that he actually do something productive and be a valuable member of society.

But on the other hand, she probably wouldn’t trust him to correctly fill out the reports - under cause of death he would no doubt list something along the lines of ‘ _ fatal humiliation by lack of fashion sense’.  _

She doesn’t really know why he stays still, he’s always more than eager to slip out of her sight and out of the precinct when the forensic part of the investigation begins. And it’s not like he doesn’t have the latest and probably most expensive AC system at his penthouse. 

But when the fifth paperclip flies by her right shoulder and lands right next to her currently empty pen holder, she’s about ready to flip over her desk in frustration. Because it’s not enough that he is the Master of Evasion when it comes to paperwork, he has to be a big ass distraction too. It’s kind of his childish way of telling her  _ “I’m not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention”. _

Her partner is a child. A child-Devil. Satan has a mental capacity of a five-year-old.

Sometimes she really wonders why she puts up with him.

And how the hell did she fell in love with him?

Those are the big questions of the universe, philosophers like Aristotle or Plato can kiss her ass with their  _ ‘meaning of life’ _ crap.

But it’s probably because of his big heart and his unmatched ability to make her ridiculously happy (when he’s not acting like a child).

“We don’t have a case, you know. And probably won’t have one for the rest of the day. You can really just go home if you like,” she tries to inform him as calmly as she can over her shoulder, hiding her annoyance behind a smile she’s sure he can tell is fake. Her acting days are  _ way _ behind her, so sue her.

“And why would I do that, Detective?” he raises one dark eyebrow in question, his forehead crinkles into that familiar frown that means he thinks she’s speaking nonsense.

“Because you are obviously bored?” she gestures to him and then to her desk, where his impromptu fun-fair is taking place.

“Well, I’m here to help you. That’s what partners do, are they not?” he asks innocently, as he raises his arm to aim another paperclip towards her desk.

“You don’t actually help, Lucifer,” she replies, her voice takes on a biting tone. “You are just distracting me.”

“Umm, I care to disagree, Detective,“ he shoots her a mildly offended look. “Was that iced latte I bought you earlier not helpful? I know how sulky you get without your shot of caffeine in the morning.”

“I meant actual work, Lucifer,” she rolls her eyes. But that cold drink really helped her, though.

“I also tidied up your desk. After all, you can’t work in chaos properly,” he gives her a smug expression she would really like to wipe from his stupid, handsome face.

And by “tidied up" he really means he removed all the office tools from her desk, so he could play with them later. 

“You have an explanation for everything, haven’t you?” she shakes her head with a fond smile she tries very hard to suppress because she’s supposed to be annoyed with him.

“I’m the Devil, darling, of course, I have.”

He rises from his seat and walks in front of her desk, placing the paperclip in the pen holder and gives her a contemplative look.

“Detective?”

“Hmm?” she replies as she glances back down at her unfinished report, and starts filling out the details about a victim in a robbery gone wrong. Only 25, poor guy.

“Have you seen the new vending machine in the break room?”

Frowning and slightly taken aback, she lifts her eyes at him again. She really did not expect that question. “Yeah, I just bought a turkey sandwich from it yesterday, remember?”

“Yes, but have you really seen it? It has the newest flavors of Pringles and they added your favorite jalapeño chips as well. And the design is just..phew,” he makes a small whistling noise and Chloe thinks her frown is becoming a permanent feature on her forehead. “I think you should check it out again, Detective,” he suggests as he gestures behind his back to the break room.

Now, it’s hardly the first time Lucifer is being odd and babbling nonsense - and even after learning that his metaphors aren’t actually metaphors, he can still surprise her from time to time with his weirdness.

“I have to work, Lucifer,” she states matter-of-factly, and returns to her still unfinished police report.

“But, Detective, I really think you should look over the selection again. Maybe you find something that would really...excite you,” he insists, and she looks up at the tone of his voice.

He has that expression on his face, the one that tells her he’s up to no good, a playful smile at the corner of his lips that makes the crow’s feet she adores around his eyes appear.

She sighs, exasperated. “Ok, fine,” she gives in as she stands from her chair. 

Will there be a time when she’s able to say him no? Probably not, and she’s learned a long time ago to just roll with it and humor him. Besides, she really needs to stretch her limbs a bit, she’s been sitting in that chair for hours.

“Excellent!” he exclaims and turns his back to her, an eagerness in his steps as he strolls to the aforementioned room, not waiting if she follows him or not.

Of course, she does.

And when she steps into the dimly lit room to ask him what the hell she’s doing here, her back is suddenly pressed against to the closed door, soft and greedy lips finding hers as she lets out a surprised yelp. 

“Lucifer, wha-”

“As I’ve said before,” he interrupts her, placing a kiss on her neck before whispering close to her ear, leaving goosebumps all over her body. “...partners help each other, and now I’m helping you relieve some stress.” 

Stress that he’s half responsible for, but she’s not about to complain when his mouth is doing these glorious things to her body and he proves his point with a gentle nip at her earlobe that turns her legs into goo and her brain into mush.

But still, she supposed to be professional and not have sex at her workplace with her ridiculously hot boyfriend  _ and _ Devil, and is about to open her mouth to tell him that, but when his lips find that sensitive spot on the side of her neck and his other hand finds its way into her jeans to cup her through her already soaked panties, all thoughts of professionalism flies out the window.

She lets out a moan, and he gives her a proud grin, shedding his suit jacket in the process. Her fingers start playing with the hem of his white shirt before ripping it to the sides, exposing his muscular chest as the buttons scatter away on the floor. 

She’s not afraid to ruin his expensive clothing ever since he told her he doesn’t mind replacing them as long as she’s the one responsible for their untimely deaths.

He lifts her up by her waist, allowing her to wrap her legs around his waist, and carries her to the other end of the room as she gets rid of her shirt. His mouth explores her collarbone while she’s busy making a mess of his always perfectly coiffed hair. He gently places her on the only available surface; the blue couch.

And even though the ancient thing is lumpy as hell and probably the most uncomfortable couch she’s ever had the chance to sit on, he makes her forget all that with his expert fingers and other body parts as he takes her to the edge and back, lighting up stars behind her eyelids as they ride out their orgasms.

He’s good. Too good. The best, really.

“Now, isn’t that better, than all those boring paperwork?” he asks when he tucks her gloriously naked and satisfied body on top of his, placing a kiss on her hair.

She lets out a snort, that kind of laugh he once called a “demented witch on crack” but secretly loves and answers “Yes, it is.”

They dress is comfortable silence, and as he buttons up his suit jacket over his buttonless shirt to cover the damage she’d done, she places a quick kiss on his lips before slipping out the door.

She returns to her desk with a smile.


	6. Theomachy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> 30\. "Tell me a secret"
> 
> theomacy  
> /θiˈɑm.ə.ki/  
>  _noun_  
>  3\. an opposition to divine will

“Tell me a secret,” she whispers against his collarbone in the darkness of the penthouse, the thin curtain at window allowing the city lights to seep through the floor to ceiling glass, outlining his fine features and part of his body not covered by sheets.

He doesn’t look at her at first, doesn’t seem to even register her voice as he continues to draw random patterns on the exposed skin of her back with lazy fingers. His eyes are closed, breathing evenly and Chloe thinks he must have fallen asleep until his head turns towards her, fingers coming to a halt at the curve of her shoulder, pulling her closer to him. 

“I have no secrets, Detective. Anything you wish to know, you only need to ask,” he breathes against her forehead, nose in her hair and her eyes flutter close. 

She loves when he does this, engulfing her against his warm body, making her forget the outside world while in his arms. He’s more clingy at this time of day, just before they drift off to sleep - less talkative, less bravado. Not that she minds. Who knew the Devil is a cuddler?

“Then tell me something I don’t already know,” she pulls away slightly, just enough to look into his dark, almost black eyes. He blinks at her sleepily. “Like, when you decided to stay on Earth for a longer time, why did you choose Los Angeles? I would have thought Las Vegas was more your ground,” her face pulls into a faint grimace at the mention of the city, unpleasant memories break though that perfectly fortified segment of her brain where she exiled the image of Candy and white sheet covered furnitures. 

As if sensing her momentary self-inflicted discomfort, he takes a fallen lock of her hair between his thumb and forefinger, placing it behind her ear, lips pulling into her favorite smile, the one that reaches his eyes, making the cornes wrinkle up with faint crow’s feet. “Too touristy,” he answers, catching her wandering fingers as they slip under the warm sheets, placing a feather light kiss on her knuckles. “And too loud,” he admits and he catches her lifting one of her eyebrows in surprise. 

“What?” he asks in a fake offended voice as he gets into a half seated position on the mattress, back resting against the headboard of the bed. “Even the Devil needs some silence and calm once in a while.”

Yes, he does. And she does too. And she adores those times when there are just the two of them, here, in his gigantic and comfortable bed, without any background noise. Or the times when he prepares her favorite omelette in the mornings, just before they start their busy days, he as a club owner slash police consultant and she as a detective and mother.

It’s really nice to have a quiet place they can both retreat to.

“But,” he continues, rousing her from her musings, “if I have to choose a reason besides prime real estate, perfect weather and it literally being the city of Angels,” he stops and gets up from the bed, and Chloe has a few seconds to admire his naked glory before he slips into his black silk robe, holding out his arm to her, palm upwards.

Her brows pull into a frown for a moment before she realizes he wants her to also vacate the bed. She quickly pulls on his white shirt that had been hastily discarded on the floor earlier and takes his hand. Leaving the warm and comfortable bed at the middle of the night was very low on her list this night, but her curiosity gets the better of her.

She silently follows him through his spacious living room, bare feet touching marble floor is the only sound in the penthouse as they make their way to his ridiculously big balcony. Late night summer breeze brushing through her hair as they step out, freeing a lock from behind her ears. 

He ushers her to the railing and she closes her palms around the metal rod, his hands land next to hers as his body stops behind her. His nose nuzzles her cheek lightly before he whispers in her ear, finishing his earlier explanation, “Those.”

She turns her head to the side to look at his profile and he nods towards the sky. She glances at the direction his eyes are fixed and she scowls. “The stars?” she asks, her voice laced with doubt. “But you can see them everywhere. Even Las Vegas.” It seems she really can’t press delete on that stupid city, she silently berates herself for always bringing it up.

“Yes, fortunately the light pollution you humans are so determined to bring to every corner of the Earth has not dwindled their brilliance,” he pauses. She has long since learned not to get offended by his use of _“humans”_ because one, he’s right and second, she knows better than to think he counts her in in those sentiments. 

He shifts behind her, resting his cheek against the side of her head, body warm and solid behind her back. “But for some reason, they look different from here…feel different,” he finishes and turns his head. She feels his dark gaze on her face, but instead of looking at him she glances back at the luminous spots adorning the night sky. She tilts her head and asks: “Did you really make them?” 

She still doesn’t look at him, in case she asked something stupid and he starts laughing at her. Not that it would stop the embarrassment or her cheeks turning red, because she’s still fairly new to this whole celestial world and-

“Yes,” his only answer, his lips pull into that smile again and this time, she turns her head to him, blinking rapidly, lips parting slightly. 

Holy shit.

Her ask was half joking half curiosity-because-she-reads-way-too-much-shit-on-celestial-things. She already knew that the Sun was, in some way, his creation but this was something new. She didn’t really expect a confirmative answer, but somehow the shock of it is more acceptable and not at all hard to digest than she would have thought. Guess not much can top the gigantic earthquake that rattled her world when she found out her partner is the literal Devil and there is God and Heaven and Hell. 

“What are their purpose?” she inquires once she untangles her thoughts and wit.

He puffs out a soft laugh. “Literally nothing. They are just...there,” he gets a longing and sentimental look in his dark eyes and she places her hand on top of his on the railing. “I made them for Mother. Father didn’t like them - surprise, surprise - but Mom convinced Him not to destroy them,” he shrugs, trying to sound nonchalant but she can hear the emotions in his voice. 

She turns around, sneaking her arms around his neck and stands on her tiptoes and kisses him softly. His hands rest on either side of her waist, melting into her touch. “Well they are really beautiful. I’m glad they stayed,” she inform him when they break apart, their nose touching.

“Yes, me too,” he whispers, tucking a stray lock of her hair behind her ears, brushing his thumb across her cheek. “For me, they represent…”

“Free will,” she finishes his thought, understanding washes through her and she feels her eyes water slightly at what those radiant heavenly bodies mean to him. Why she often finds him standing silently on the balcony, looking up at the sky. Why she’s the one who’s always driving when they travel to a crime scene at night. Why he has floor to ceiling windows on every wall in his penthouse and why his bed is next to that same kind of window. 

“Yes,” he breathes and awe and something else she can’t name shines in his eyes. He’s looking at her as if _she_ was the one making his stars and she still needs to get used to his affection for her because it makes her heart beat like crazy and her skin feels like a thousand fireworks.

He’s looking at her like someone finally understands and accepts him, all of him and she hasn’t seen anything more beautiful. 

She tightens her arms around his neck, presses their noses closer and whispers against his lips: “Let’s get back to bed.”

A chuckle escapes his lips before kissing her, and then scooping her up bridal style in his arms. She lets out a squeak at the sudden movement and then a happy giggle bubbles out of her. She maintains her arms around his neck, wandering fingers find their way into his already mussed hair. He lets out a soft moan against her lips as he starts to get back inside.

“Couldn't’ have said it better, Detective.”

And they disappear into the blackness of the penthouse, his stars are their only witnesses for the rest of the night.


End file.
